


Situation, Presented

by pollitt



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Challenge: literal_sga, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-23
Updated: 2008-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all happened so gradually, slowing unfolding over the course of the six months, that Rodney didn't realize how serious the situation was, how deeply he was entrenched, until he was already too far-gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situation, Presented

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the summary of my prompt (found at the end of the story) with a couple of nods to _Bones_.

It all happened so gradually, slowing unfolding over the course of the six months, that Rodney didn't realize how serious the situation was, how deeply he was entrenched, until he was already too far-gone.

The first prank has been more or less harmless--a slew of emails had arrived in his work email promising a myriad of positions and partners. He'd been prepared to chalk it up to a glitch in this spam-filtering program--a program of his own creation and whose use at the Roland Foundation made them one of the best-secured systems in the world. He had pulled up the program and was in the process of tracking the I.P. from the emails when he realized that it wasn't spam--someone *not* him had used his email account to sign up for these sites, allowing the emails to pass through the various electronic checkpoints unhindered. He had rolled his eyes and mentally started to create a list of suspects. Top among them was Kavanaugh. This was just the kind of thing that he would do, and see it as a virtual 'fuck you.' The prick still was hot under the collar over the fact that Rodney had gone from just another member of the Strategic Gateway labs to trustee-and-head-honcho of the Roland Foundation in one day.

Truth be told, more days than not Rodney wished that he was back in the labs and not in a suit and tie, meeting with board members to discuss budgets, contracts, press releases, or taking press inquiries (which, thank God, he didn't have to do too often. His sister more than proved herself worthy of every accolade with the way she could handle a press conference.) But as much as he wished he could go back to the being *just* the brilliant head scientist, his birthright, and more to the point, the will (both figurative and literal) of Roland McKay was not something that could be denied.

_The only son of Roland McKay--who had been a millionaire many times over by the time he was 30--Rodney was never want for anything. And for as long as he could remember, the seat at the head of the Roland Foundation, which funds the R&amp;D (and sometimes production) of everything from Silly Putty to space age weaponry to medical research, was Rodney's to inherit._

Which was why, three days shy of his 16th birthday, when the acceptance letter arrived from MIT, Rodney packed his bags and headed for Boston. There he'd been able to make a name for himself, away from the looming legacy of Roland. And if he failed to mention on his application to Strategic Gateway labs that the guy who signed the paychecks and paid the bills to get the place running, he didn't know that he could really be blamed. Luckily, McKay was a common enough name that only a few people ever came close to asking if he was related to *those* McKays. He was happily researching exotic particles and their possible future application as a power source when the news came down that Roland McKay had died, and before he could process the information fully he and Jeannie were in their father's office, talking with Woolsey--who was their father's right hand man for as long as they could remember--and being handed talking points to say at a press conference.

With Jeannie the voice and heart of the foundation, and Rodney the head, they'd expanded on their father's vision, becoming involved in research from nanotechnology to practical applications of sub light space travel. In decade since they'd taken over, the Roland Foundation had become the foremost research foundation in United States--even the world--staffed by the best of the best. If R.F. gave their stamp of approval on a product, company could all but guarantee approval and mass production of their product. A thumbs down, however, could mean, and had meant the end of some very large companies, which hadn't won Rodney any new fans.

But none of that intrigue had even crossed his mind that first time. He'd deleted the messages and tightened the Internet security of R.F.'s computers, creating a new and private email address for himself, and sending a harmless-but-annoying glitch to Kavanaugh's computer for the hell of it.

As he'd completed his tasks John Sheppard--whom the Roland Foundation, and more specifically Rodney, had hired on as a consultant for one of their newest nanotechnology projects--had stopped by to go over some of the preliminary research the team at the S.G. labs had compiled.

_On paper, John Sheppard was the ideal candidate for the project. He'd graduated summa cum laude from Princeton at twenty and had earned his doctorate while studying under Feynman and Lederberg. While genetics could bore Rodney to tears, anyone who hung out with Richard Feynman and bounced ideas off of him as Esther Lederberg had was good in Rodney's book. And Sheppard's background in physics as well as microbiology was just what the foundation had been looking for to consult on their nanotechnology research._

Sheppard's physical appearance was as impressive as his C.V. and the first time Rodney met him, Rodney knew it wouldn't just be the awards and accomplishments that people would be swooning over. Standing 6'2", John Sheppard had been wearing a dark blue-gray suit, a white shirt and navy tie. His mess of dark hair and the perma-stubble, and the lazy hint of a drawl that Rodney could just subtly detect--it all added up to trouble of the fawning women kind. If his credentials hadn't been so damn appealing, Rodney would've sent him away for being too pretty. Jeannie had smirked when he'd told her, arguing that while women would no doubt be ogling John's looks, Rodney had done virtually the same thing over John's brain. Rodney couldn't argue, and they'd offered John the job.

Sheppard was at the foundation for less than a week before he became the hot commodity. Rodney usually ate lunch in his office, but when he would venture down to the dining hall he'd seen John surrounded by admirers. It was like high school all over again, the women wanted him and the men wanted to be his friend. Unlike high school, John had looked up from his lunch and waved Rodney over to join him, moving closer to Lorne so Rodney could have space to sit. And when he did, John slid a bowl of blue jello his way.

"I saved it for you," John had said.

And from there, their friendship began.

 

\----------

 

After they'd finished going over the research, Rodney shared with John his suspicion over the source of the emails. They'd traded insults to Kavanaugh's intellect, hygiene and lack of character and then John had thrown the curveball.

"I have another project I'd like to work on with you." John tossed a leather portfolio onto the table in front of Rodney. "I think we should be a couple."

"A couple of what?" Rodney had asked as he opened the portfolio and saw the contents. It was a report. **The Likelihood, and Statistical Support, of Success in the Partnering of John R. Sheppard and M. Rodney McKay.** "Are you insane?"

John had leaned back in his chair and leveled Rodney with his best grin, the one that Rodney had seen work countless times on almost as many women (not that he'd been watching.) "My research is sound. I made it a double blind study as I ran the analysis. You already think I'm attractive--"

"I never said--" Rodney interrupted.

"McKay, you almost didn't hire me because I was too good looking."

Rodney closed his mouth and crossed his arms. "This is insane, Sheppard. I'm not going to entertain this asinine notion."

John had smiled and leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "Keep it in mind. And in the mean time, wanna go grab some food. We still have a chess game to finish, if I recall."

Rodney had rolled his eyes and nodded. "You're going down, Sheppard."

"Maybe, but I'm still ahead in the standings."

"Yes, you're a regular Kasparov."

"Does that make you Bobby Fischer?"

\----------

 

Over the next few months, the pranks had grown more insidious--a dozen Asiatic lilies (or as Rodney liked to call them "leafy pretty throat closers") delivered to his office, chocolates with a lemon filling mixed in with the regular desserts at the company party, a loose wire in his car weakening his brakes.

Throughout it all, John had been there, occasionally giving Rodney grief, especially after the locked men's room incident, but unlike most everyone else, he'd taken Rodney's claims seriously. Rodney was pretty sure that Jeannie believed him, but she had enough on her mind with a toddler and a new baby, plus a husband in graduate school. Woolsey was more skeptical and had just told him he was being paranoid. It was nice to have John on his side. After the incident with the brakes, as they were waiting for the tow truck, he'd even offered to take Rodney for some target practice.

John had also not given up on his Rodney Report, as he called it. After the initial shock of the proposal, Rodney had--although he hadn't and wouldn't admit it to John--read the report, and John's research was solid. And Rodney was flattered. And he couldn't claim that he was opposed to the idea. But he wasn't convinced quite yet that the report wasn't just a whim.

If he was honest with himself, Rodney had started to warm up to the idea.

Which was exactly when things started to really get intense.

When a malfunction in his personal lab's emergency fire protocol resulted in Rodney being hermetically sealed in the room while the air was being sucked out, it was clear that the pranks had gone from sinister to homicidal.

"If you think I'm going to let you go home by yourself, you are a thousand kinds of wrong, McKay," John said, knocking out a jagged corner of glass and offering Rodney a hand as he helped him step through the hole John had shattered through the plate glass.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a fearless superhero," Rodney said, coughing.

"I don't think that anybody really thinks that." John smiled when Rodney shot him a dirty look. "And even if they did, I don't care what you have to say, I'm staying with you tonight."

"How do I know you're not the mastermind behind these? Maybe it's a part of your master plan to woo me. Like a sociopathic Munchhausen's syndrome."

"I think there was too little oxygen to your brain. Do you really think that I'd do that?"

"No, no of course I don't." Rodney let John lead him to John's car. "And just in case there was any question--you're sleeping on the couch."

"Spoilsport," John said as Rodney got into the passenger seat.

John was walking around to the driver's side and missed Rodney's smile in reply.

After a brief argument over whose apartment they would stay at--'Your apartment could fit in my living room,' Rodney argued--and a quick detour to John's apartment to pick up some of his stuff, they arrived at Rodney's house and settled in for pizza and beer.

"What do you mean you've never seen 2001: A Space Odyssey?" Rodney asked, somewhere between shocked and horrified. "How could you study with Richard Feynman and Never. Have. Seen. That. Movie?"

"What can I say, the computer's voice creeps me the hell out." John flicked a beer cap across the room.

"I'm the one who nearly had the air ripped out of my lungs today, so you are just going to have to deal with being creeped out." Rodney snapped and pointed at the bottle cap. "And you will pick that up."

"Will you hold my hand if I get too scared?" John asked. He slid across the wood floor in his socked feet and leaned forward to pick up the cap. As he did his shirt rode up and Rodney caught a glimpse of bare skin.

"Don't push your luck, John."

Despite John's skepticism, Rodney could tell that he enjoyed himself. And he only claimed to be creeped out once.

"Not to bring up work, but with computer's rebelling . . ." John stretched out on the couch, his feet brushing against Rodney's thigh. Rodney didn't push him away. "Have you thought about the potential applications of the nanotechnology we're working with?"

"Beyond the potential to cure cancer, actually cure cancer?" Rodney asked, knowing full well there was more on John's mind.

"Which would be amazing, if that's all it did. But think about it, we just watched a movie where a computer killed people because he didn't want to be shut down, to become obsolete."

"Are you suggesting that the nanites might rebel against the cancer? Or that the cancer might?"

"No, what I'm suggesting is that how could you specify exactly what the nanites need to fight? And how can you protect them from corruption? What happens when people decide that left-handedness is something that's wrong? Or baldness? When parents decide before their child is born that any unwanted trait needs to be "fixed"? How could it be kept under control? I can update my iPhone when it's not even in the same room, the nanites..."

"Yes, _yes_." Rodney shifted, turned and looked at John--the possibility of John's suppositions flashing in Technicolor in his mind. "Oh _God_."

"Exactly." John set his empty beer bottle on the floor and yawned. "Sorry."

"What? No--" Rodney snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at his watch. "It's late. I should probably-- We should get some sleep."

He stood up quickly and looked around the room. "I can get you some, let me get you some blankets. The couch should be pretty comfortable. I can't tell you the number of times I've fallen asleep on it."

"This'll be good. And hey, I get to be the first line of defense in case evil computers or insane pranksters decide tonight's the night."

John brought the empty beer bottles and pizza box into the kitchen while Rodney got him some blankets from the hall closet.

"Thank you, by the way," Rodney said, tossing the blankets on the couch. "For staying here tonight. And for believing me."

"You're welcome." John squeezed Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney watched as John settled in on the couch before heading to his own room.

That night. alone in his bed, Rodney dreamt he was in a spacesuit drifting alongside a damaged ship, looking for a way to repair her. Through a window he could see John inside the ship, working on a computer. There was a flash of light and John looked up at him, he said Rodney's name once before the wall behind him disappeared and John was sucked backward into space.

He woke up with a sour taste in his mouth.

When Rodney stepped out into the hallway, he could smell frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee. He shook off the last cobwebs of his bad dream and made his way to the kitchen, where John was making breakfast.

"Hey." John pushed a plate with a poached egg, bacon and toast over to Rodney and poured him a cup of coffee. "Bad night?"

"I should've stayed on the couch. I would've slept better." Rodney took a drink of coffee and sighed. "But horrible night aside, I was thinking--"

"That you should go to the police today? Great. I completely agree." John pushed some bacon onto his own plate and sat down next to Rodney.

"No, well, yes. But I was also thinking--"

"How good the coffee is? The secret is to use cold water."

"No." Rodney put his silverware down and turned to face John. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?"

"Dinner. Like as in a date?"

"As in."

"Do you really have to ask?" John asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes." Rodney felt his cheeks flushing slightly.

"The answer's yes, Rodney. What? Do you need me to make you another pie chart?" John grinned from ear to ear and went back to his food.

Rodney matched John's smile and found his appetite had returned. He finished his breakfast and showered while John called for a car to be sent from the Roland Foundation to pick up Rodney and take him to the police station.

"You sure you don't want me to go with you?" John asked as a car pulled up in front of the house.

"No, I'll be fine. Thank you, though."

They walked down to the waiting car and Rodney got into the back seat.

"After I get done at the police station, I'll meet you at the office. We can figure out dinner plans then. Sound good?" Rodney asked from the open window.

"You got it." John squatted down and rested his forearms in the window opening. "Call if you need me."

"I will." Rodney squeezed John's forearm. "Thanks."

John waved as they pulled away and Rodney told the driver, a tall, pale guy with white hair, to take him to the closest police station. The guy didn't say anything in reply, and when he turned left instead of right, toward the police station, Rodney knew something was wrong.

"Where are you taking me?" He demanded, leaning forward toward the driver. "Stop the car right now."

He reached into his jacket pocket retrieve his cell phone so he could call John when he felt a white-hot pain just above his knee. He looked down and saw a syringe.

"What the--" he asked before feeling himself fall to his side.

\----------

 

Rodney woke up to find his wrists were bound together and he was hanging, with his toes just barely touching the ground, from what appeared to be a hook. He shook his head in an attempt to clear whatever it was they'd used to knock him out from his thoughts.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Dr. McKay," A middle-aged man said just to Rodney's right. The man stepped into Rodney's direct line of vision and kept talking. "Too much movement could cause you to lose your footing, and if that happens, well, you could end up with a dislocated shoulder or worse."

The man was vaguely familiar to Rodney, who was bad with names and faces even when he didn't have narcotics in his veins. "Who the hell are you, and why are you doing this?"

"My name is Henry Wallace and I'm the President of . . . "

"Devlin Medical Technologies. Great." Rodney shifted. Devlin Medical Technologies was one of the largest government-funded contractors in the nation, manufacturing a number of products that the Roland Foundation had given their blessing on. Things were beginning to make a little sense, although the full picture was still just out of Rodney's grasp. He silently cursed the drugs for robbing him of clear thoughts and then glared at Wallace. "You still haven't answered my other question. Why are you doing thing?"

"To put it simply, you didn't take the hint."

"The hint for what? That I should be eating lemons and playing with loose wires and locking myself in air-free rooms while looking at online pornography?"

"To leave your hands out of nanotechnology research."

"Why would--unless you know there's something wrong. There is, isn't there? John was right. He's going to gloat when I tell. . . Oh God, he's going to be waiting."

"You better hope that Dr. Sheppard is good at waiting," Wallace said, standing in front of Rodney, just out of kicking distance.

Rodney's retort died on the way to his lips as he felt a sharp sting of a needle in his neck and everything faded to black.

\----------

 

As he sat waiting in the over-sized armchair at one side of Rodney's office, John wondered, not for the first time, how he got himself into these situations.

Love at first sight--at least where people were concerned--had never been something he bought into. Flying, Ferris Wheels, football, a perfectly grilled steak, those were all things that John has fallen in love with at first sight (okay, it had been the smell of the steak), but as far as people were concerned, John's thinking had always been on the "where did that come from" side. He'd always been the one that was pursued, who didn't see the relationship until there were unfamiliar socks in his sock drawer and another toothbrush next to his. Nancy had always joked that he didn't know about his wedding day until he'd shown up at the chapel in a tux and with two rings.

But that had been before he walked into the Roland Foundation and met Rodney McKay. The guy had turned John's interview into an informational session about the life and brilliance of Dr. Rodney McKay, and he'd conceded that, while John wasn't as smart as he was, Rodney was impressed and offered him the job. It was impossible not to be impressed with McKay's genius, and the number of opportunities working for the Roland Foundation was reason enough to like the guy, but then something happened that John wasn't expecting--he didn't just want to be Rodney's colleague, he wanted to be his friend. For a guy that was notoriously bad with people, Rodney had been remarkably easy to become friends with. From their first lunch together, something in the two of them had clicked. They were at ease with one another, seemed to be able to just *get* what each other was thinking, and John was pretty sure he'd never had more fun playing chess.

It was a great friendship, the best John had ever had. And then he realized he was in love with McKay, and had been almost since day one when Rodney didn't want to hire him because he was too good looking. He had no idea what Rodney's feelings were on the subject, if he *had* any feelings on the subject or knew there even was a subject, and John had known just going up to him and declaring his undying affection would probably make Rodney call for security and maybe a straight jacket for John. So John did something that he knew Rodney would have to listen to, or at least consider--The Rodney Report. It had taken him the better part of two weeks to compile the data--from the physical compatibility to the intellectual, from John's reticence to talk about feelings to Rodney's inability to maintain a poker face, everything was quantified, considered, and recorded. Rodney's reaction to the report--surprise and no doubt suspicion--hadn't been the one John had been hoping for, but he hadn't rejected it completely either. And it wasn't as though Rodney didn't have enough on him mind anyway, with the increasingly dangerous pranks that had been aimed his way. The worse the incidents had become, the stronger John's protective streak became, and after yesterday's nearly deadly accident in the lab.

John shuddered at the thought of what could have happened. The image of Rodney, gasping for air in a glorified glass coffin was something that would be haunting John's nightmares for some time to come. Seduction and romance had been the last thing on John's mind when he'd insisted that he stay with Rodney last night.

But then they'd had such a good night. And Rodney hadn't pushed John's touches away--he never had. And he'd asked John out to dinner this morning, had asked John out on a date.

Where the hell was McKay?

Something definitely didn't feel right, John's "bad shit happens" sense was screaming and jumping up and down, and he knew he needed to find out what was going on.

As John made his way down the hallway, he saw Kavanaugh laughing with a tall guy with long white hair and who looked vaguely familiar. He heard snippets of words--McKay, Wallace, payment, drugged--and it was like he'd been punched in the gut. He remembered where he'd seen the other guy now. He'd picked up Rodney from the house this morning to take him to the police station.

John wasn't certain what the hell was going on, but he did know that the white-haired guy did. And he could take John to where Rodney was.

As John was growing up, General Morgan Sheppard had made sure his sons knew how to defend themselves--karate, boxing, ROTC. John stopped in his office and grabbed his gun from the bag he'd brought to Rodney's last night for protection. He'd been glad he didn't have to use it then, but now... Something was wrong, and Rodney needed to be saved.

He found the guy in the lobby, heading out toward the parking lot. John followed him, tucking his gun in his jacket pocket.

As his target was unlocking the door of his car John made his move. He stepped up behind the giant and pressed the gun into the small of the guy's back. He prayed the guy wouldn't turn around and challenge him. John was in no mood to take any shit. "Take me to McKay. Now."

The shit might have hit the fan for everything else, but John counted it a win that the guy didn't argue with him. He opened the driver's side door and got in, waiting as John opened the passenger door behind him and got in.

"Drive. And if you do anything stupid, your pretty white hair is going to be covered in brains and blood." John kept the gun trained at the back of the drivers seat.

The car started and they began driving.

"What the hell is going on. Who hired you?" John demanded, but his driver stayed silent.

"Fine. At least tell me your name. I hate pointing my gun and people if I don't know their name."

When his driver didn't answer, John continued. "Okay, Todd it is. Todd, I have no idea what's going on, who you are or why Rodney McKay is so important."

"Oh, I think you do," Todd said, and John could hear the accusation in his voice.

"_But_ if he's been hurt . . . He had better be okay."

Todd hmmmed and kept driving.

The car stopped in front of an old mansion--the kind that you'd see in old photographs of the Vanderbilts on their summer vacation. John got out of the car first. He opened the door and pointed the gun in Todd's face.

"Show me."

Todd grumbled but listened. He stepped out of the car and John followed as they walked around the side of the house. Behind it there was a smaller, but still substantial building. It had probably been the servants quarters, John guessed.

"In here." Todd opened the door and pointed, and John leaned forward to get a better look.

It was that momentary mistake that had given Todd the upper hand. John felt a hard fist slam into wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand, and that first hit was followed by another to his side. John managed a couple of solid blows, but Todd had the superior strength. For every hit that John landed, Todd got in three--Johns ribs and side felt as though they'd been pulped, and when Todd swept his feet from under him, John heard a snap. He reached out and pulled, yanking Todd to the floor. Todd landed on his back with a sickening crack--like a cantaloupe hitting the ground. He gave a moan but made no move to get up.

"Where are they?" John demanded, grabbing the front of Todd's shirt.

"In the back," Todd said, pointing. "I won't follow."

John got back onto his feet and headed toward the direction Todd had indicated. He paused when he heard voices.

"Your foundation's research, even the preliminary results you've been reporting... Do you have any idea how much money I've lost so far?"

"McKay?" John said. He waited for --

"John!"

John stumbled toward the next room.

If he wasn't already short of breath, seeing Rodney--his wrists bound and hanging from a hook in the middle of the room--would've done the trick.

"Get the fuck away from him," John growled, charging toward the man who was standing in front of Rodney.

"And the cavalry arrives." The man reached for something in his pocket when Rodney kicked out at him, causing him to stumble.

"Wallace. No!"

A syringe flew from Wallace's hand and the momentary distraction gave John the opening he'd been looking for.

John felt the skin of his knuckles rip as his fist made contact with Wallace's jaw. As Rodney watched helplessly, John, even in his battered and far from top fighting shape, managed to avoid Wallace's hook. Using Wallace's overcompensation of balance to his advantage, John swung down hard on the back of Wallace's neck as the other man fell. Wallace huffed a groan and landed on the hard concrete. He remained there, silent and still, his chest rising and falling slowly.

John was pretty sure he had more than a few cracked ribs, and his collarbone is nowhere near in one piece, but Wallace was flat on his face and out cold and Rodney . . . Rodney was safe.

Rodney let out a sob as John helped him lift up his arms up and off of the hook, letting them drop like dead weight over John's neck and shoulders. John used his good arm to wrap around Rodney; the pain spiking through him worth the knowledge that Rodney was free and safe. It was a less than graceful descent to the floor, but they managed and controlled the fall to their knees--John's arm wrapped around Rodney's waist and Rodney's arms--his wrists bound--encircling John's neck.

"I got you, I've got you." john turned his head as much as he could and let his lips brush against Rodney's shoulder. Rodney's body shuttered, and John felt wetness against the side of his neck. "I got you, Rodney."

Rodney pulled back and John felt sparks of pain that put stars in his eyes. "I didn't . . . He was going . . ."

John lifted his hand, holding back the wince, and managed to skim his fingers over Rodney's side. He hoped to God that his voice didn't betray the screaming of every muscle in his body. "You're safe now. He's not going to hurt you anymore."

"Oh _God_, you're hurt," Rodney said, aghast, trying to pull his arms up and over John's neck--jostling John's shoulder in the process. They both hissed in pain and John had to swallow back the sick feeling the movement caused.

"I'm-- Yeah, I'm hurt, but it's nothing doctors can't patch up." John reached out for Rodney's hands, covering both Rodney's with his own. "Are you okay? He didn't--"

Rodney didn't so much lean in as fall forward into John's mouth, and if John's mouth didn't hurt before (thank you ham-fisted Todd) the clack of their teeth the split second before Rodney's lips moved would've done the trick. But then Rodney's lips moved and they were kissing and John didn't care about anything else.

"That wasn't exactly how I thought our first kiss would go," John said shakily, still holding onto Rodney's hands.

"I'll make it up to you. When my arms aren't made of overcooked spaghetti."

They managed to stand, not without a good amount of effort and expletives, and made their way out the door of the carriage house and toward the street where John used his cell phone to call 911.

The ambulances and cop cars arrived within minutes and they gave a brief recap to the police--the history of the pranks, Rodney's abduction, Wallace's reasons--before the paramedics insisted that they be taken to the hospital. John looked over at Rodney, who was being led to his own stretcher, and they shared a silent thank you before the blur of IVs and fast-talking EMTs washed over him and he closed his eyes.

The events between the ambulance ride and when John woke up again in the hospital were a blur. He remembered making some smart remark to the guy who was checking his vitals and then everything went fuzzy until he looked over at the bed next to him and saw Rodney looking back at him. There were bandages wrapped around Rodney's wrists and there was an angry bruise on his jaw, but he was smiling. John couldn't help but return the gesture.

As John suspected, he had indeed suffered a broken clavicle. His ribs were bruised rather than broken, his kidneys were probably not going to like him very much over the next week, and not to mention his split knuckles and other various bumps and bruises. Rodney had strained muscles in his shoulders and bicep region and contact burns and cuts around his wrists. They'd be in the hospital for another day or so and then would be released, and, the doctor had mentioned, the police would be around to take their official statements in the morning.

"You know, Rodney, when you asked me to dinner tonight, I was thinking something a little more upscale than hospital food. Like maybe the golden arches," John said, looking over at Rodney's hospital bed. The painkillers the doctors had given him gave everything a soft edge.

"Hey, I like hospital food," Rodney defended, aiming a dopey smile at John. "As soon as we get out of here, we'll go so upscale you won't know what to think. I make good on my promises. And my dates."

"Speaking of, what made you change you mind?"

"About hospital food?"

"No, about the date."

"Oh." John watched as a flush spread over Rodney's ear and cheek. "Well, I am a scientist. And I read your report, and I couldn't find holes in your logic, and I couldn't argue with the solid research. You made a convincing argument. Once I'd accepted your hypothesis, the next step was clinical trials."

"You're cute when you talk science," John said, and wow those were some good drugs. He sing songed, "And you think I'm pretty."

"And people tell me I have the ego." John watched as Rodney's face went from playful to serious. "Thank you for being there for me, for believing me, even from the beginning. Thank you for finding me."

"How could I not," John answered, if a little gruffly.

Rodney's smile made John's chest feel tight, and he knew he'd given the right answer.

Even the most brilliant and maverick of scientists couldn't have predicted the path they'd been on for the last half of a year, but the end result, when you took away the homicidal businessmen, the broken bones and hospital stay, was exactly where they were supposed to be. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for literal_sga.
> 
> My book was: **_Absolutely, Positively_**, Jayne Ann Krentz  
> Molly Abberwick, trustee of her late father's foundation, is furious with her new consultant, scientist-philosopher Dr. Harry Stratton Trevelyan. Harry is brilliant, sexy, and absolutely impossible -- and his outrageous suggestion of a scientifically inspired affair with her is positively the last straw....Besides, Molly's got a much more serious problem; she's become the target of a stalker whose sinister pranks are swiftly escalating into violence. Only Harry, of all people, seems to comprehend the true nature of the threats against his alluring boss. As a dangerous predator closes in on Molly, the enigmatic Dr. Harry seizes the day to reveal himself in a totally unexpected light....


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